


With Some Time, We'll Get Past This Crime

by Cawerkuu



Series: For Awareness Months [1]
Category: Sekai-ichi Hatsukoi
Genre: Child Neglect, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, References to Addiction, References to Depression, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-25 14:03:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18575956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cawerkuu/pseuds/Cawerkuu
Summary: Based on my real life story of CSA and Neglect. This is to tell a fraction of my story and for Sexual Violence Awareness Month.





	With Some Time, We'll Get Past This Crime

Ritsu Onodera was seven when he first felt one of the most disgusting things in his world. He didn’t understand it at the time but when grew older and sat watching his grandmother’s favorite show would he realize the truth behind those callous, tightening touches across his body in places that no one was ever supposed to know but him. He would want to puke and wallow in pain as he was bent over the toilet, tears rushing down like a thunderstorm but for now…

 

He just has to bear it for some reason. He isn’t really sure why. He knows it’s wrong yet he doesn’t push away those groping, selfish fingers as he lays still, frigid against the cushions underneath him. He doesn’t know what’s happening but all he really knows is he wants  _ away _ and for it to  _ stop _ . His hips dig pathetically into the cushions, his skin feeling the print of the sewing seering into his skin like a paintbrush and canvas. He grasps to latch onto anything else that will take him out of this moment, to make the feeling fade away as he begs for some sort of mercy to wake up already from this messed up nightmare.

 

“You’re a good boy, very good.” He wants to let out a whimper, a cry, a plea,  _ anything  _ to make it stop but it dies on his tongue. He just finds himself pressing his face harder into the pillow, praying for it to be over so he can go back to sleep. The rough fingers dig into the places inside of him no one should ever go. He hates it. God, he wants to die in order to end this pain of rough, moving fingers.

 

He can hear his heartbeat going wild in his chest, making his breath hitch and stutter with each passing moment of this torment. He wants to cry so much but he can’t. He can’t do anything. He’s completely still, unable to move at all. He’s shaking, begging for some sort of freedom but far too weak to seek it.

 

And he’s just seven years old.

 

What a great life he has indeed. He can do nothing but hope for it to end as the breathless man over his pants and whispers a mantra of ‘yeah’ over him. He never opens his eyes, never, he just pretends he’s asleep but they both know how he’s not. He’s awake and begging for mercy to whatever God allowed this to happen because he sure didn’t want this. Whatever  _ this  _ is he doesn’t want. It  _ hurts _ .

 

_ ‘Please make it stop hurting,’  _ He pleas in a silent prayer to heaven above if there even is one as his grip tightens on his pillow.  _ ‘I don’t like it, please, it hurts. Make it stop!’ _

 

He hears a pant above him as those callous fingers slipped out of him. He thinks he hears him wipe his fingers on his pants but he tries not to think about. Only when he knows for sure the man has left the room does he open his eyes to see the darkness of it as it is nighttime.

 

His heart is beating rapidly and his breath is shallow, he knows this. His insides ache and he curls into a ball, dragging the covers closer and tighter around himself as a precaution but he knows it’ll do nothing if he comes back for round two. He’ll become pliant and submit because he’s  _ scared _ . He’s just seven, what else is he supposed to do?

 

He supposed to respect his elders, right? So since it’s his grandpa, it should be fine?

 

God, he feels sick. He has no idea what’s going on, unable to place a name on what he just went through all. All he really knows is that he feels sick beyond reason. He feels used, gross, and dirty. Maybe he’s shaking and hyperventilating a bit, maybe he’s even trying to hold the tears back, but no one needs to know that but him.

 

He can’t let anyone know the truth. No one will believe him. He has to protect his grandma!

 

God, he’s only seven and he despises life.

 

* * *

 

It happens again and again. He’ll go to bed fearing what’s to come, trying to make himself not remember what happens when the light switches off and people slip under the covers in this household. He’ll manage to distract himself from the inevitable and somehow find comfort in the warm covers and drift off for a while into the beauty of dreamland. 

 

That is until he’s jolted awake by fingers making their way past the waistline of his pajama bottoms. He’ll freeze, silently begging for it to be over quick as selfish fingers dig into the insides of the places no one else should be but him. Afterward, he’ll be left crying, shaking, and dirty with the imprints of those gross fingers that dig all over his body.

 

He hates it. It hurts so much. He just wants it to end, to never fear to sleep again because of it.

 

Why does it keep happening? What is it? Why does he do it? Why does it hurt so much? He doesn’t understand. He’s so young and naive and has no clue as his mind swirls into madness. He searches for answers to his neverending questions he can ask no one.

 

_ ‘Is it my fault?’   _

 

The idea strikes a new kind of fear and disgust in himself. Of course, it is! It has to be! It feels so  _ wrong  _ so he must be doing something wrong. Why else would it happen? Why else would his grandpa hurt him?

 

He can’t think of anything else but the swirl of lies that stirs in his head. He finds himself sitting the bath late into the night, wishing to be clean and prim. He wants to be good. He’s not a troublemaker, ask anyone!

 

He has to fix this. Whatever he did, he has to deserve it. After all, it has to be his fault. Who else could it be?

 

* * *

 

Ritsu watched in shocked silence, almost forgetting his great-grandmother was knitting behind her as she enjoyed the show’s audio, her focus being turned to making this scarf than the show.

 

He felt something go through him, a sense of familiarity invading his body. The buzzing of this ‘that’s me’ buzzed from his heart up to his head, through his veins down to the tips of his toes and fingertips. The horrible feeling invaded as he looked onward to the large screen, watching the display of such a hideous act that he was all too familiar with.

 

How did they know? How could they know what he felt? What he had never known he was going through? Was he…

 

Was he not the only one?

 

A shudder went down his spine, making his blood run cold. He could do nothing but look onward to the television, feeling tears prick his eyes. They stung and burned, but he had never cried over really anything so emotionally with something so deeply rooted in his core. He had never even cried or ever thought about outside of those cruel times of his hands exploring his young, vulnerable body that was being tainted with each finger that pricked, pushed, and prodded along it.

 

Oh god, he felt  _ sick _ .

 

Only nine years old and already his entire world has been flipped up upside down in the realization of everything. He could feel his throat burning, demanding something to quench the thirst he yearned for, yet he could think of nothing but those horrible nights that might be yet to come. How his grandpa would touch him with such devious intent that made him long for the day to never come, for eyes to never open to see that bare, white ceiling above him.

 

“I saw you, I  _ believe  _ you.” The brunette whispered, holding the distraught blonde gently. “What he did was  _ wrong _ . He took advantage of you! It’s  _ not  _ your fault, it’s  _ his _ .”

 

Ritsu was tearing up, unknowingly, he brought his body closer. What does he do?  What happens now? What does he do with this sickening feeling in his gut? That makes him want to puke all over the pristine carpet?

 

The show clicked off of its episode which is normal, commercials and all, however, this was a different type of commercial. It was nothing he had never seen before. As it carried on, he found his body rushing with this need to do  _ something _ .

 

“Say no more to abuse,” The brunette, one of the main detectives, says in a matching shirt to the commercial’s logo. He absently thinks he remembers that the detective’s name is Olivia. “Don’t stay silent anymore, say no more to the abuse. You’re not alone, it’s not your fault. We at SVU say No More.”

 

He found himself choking up, glancing back and forth between his grandmother who was happily knitting away and back to the screen. He swallows slowly, breathing deeply. He tried not to sound so upset but it was beyond reason at this point.

 

He took a leap of faith.

 

“G-grandma?” He stuttered, hearing his voice sound so shaky and weak to his ears. He watched as his grandmother stalled her needles, looking over at his grandson curiously. She frowned, noticing how upset Ritsu look. That was strange. Usually, Ritsu was a happy, hyperactive child.

 

“Yeah?” She asked, smiling calmly.

 

“I, uh,” His heart raced. He hated that. He hated the tears that wanted to fall. He hated that his throat felt like it was closing. He hated all of this but…

 

If Olivia says he should, that it wasn’t his fault then surely...his grandma would be the same.

 

Right?

 

“G-grandma, um, touches me... _ down there _ . H-he still does it.” He manages out after a few choked sobs and whimpers that unwillingly escaped his throat. “H-he does to me like that man on the TV!”

 

“Oh my god,” He watched his great-grandmother’s hands halt in their crocheting. His grandma was never easy to read. “Okay, listen, I'm gonna make sure he never comes near you again, okay? I'm sure I can get away for your mom let to let you stay over there instead of with my daughter and her husband. Okay, it's gonna be okay.”

 

He nodded, feeling the salty tears trickle down his flushed, burning cheeks. His entire body felt vulnerable, shaking uncontrollably as his mind slowly began to process the fact that ‘ _ it's okay now _ .’

 

“Oh, come here.” His Great-Grandma offered her wrinkly yet strong and warm arms. He didn't fight, he didn't fight most things huh, and allowed himself to seep into her hold. The protective arms wrapped around him and for once, he could hope for a brighter day and not fear what was yet to come at night.  

 

* * *

 

“You're lying!” His grandma yelled. “I know you are! Why is your lying? For your mother? Did she put you up to this?”

 

He couldn't help but tear up at her implications. He was eleven and his Great Grandmother betrayed him. She said she wouldn't any longer stand up for him.

 

He's eleven and his grandma is fifty-two. How is he supposed to defend himself against that?

 

Someone, help him.  _ Please. _

 

Later tonight, he'll cry himself to sleep and sob into his pillow for hours. For now, however, he'll keep his mouth shut and listen to the assault of vicious words that spout from his grandma's mouth.

 

* * *

 

They never went to the police. 

 

He never got therapy.

 

No one ever tried to talk about it with him. 

 

Everyone just wanted to forget it and pretend like what he experienced wasn't real. As if it was a bad dream.

 

It was real for him though.

 

He could still feel his touches, so gross and grimy as they trailed and prodded his body at an age where no one should touch. He couldn't forget his voice, the way he whispered things to make Ritsu shudder and cry for hours on end. He couldn't forget the way he smelled of beer and smokes. 

 

His panic attacks weren't just a bad dream. His excessive bullying years to come wasn't just some nightmare. The way he hated to look at his body because he could see the bruises his fingerprints left wasn't fake. The way he feared every person in his life wasn't a lie. 

 

This is real life and now he's suffering the consequences of another while the bastard gets to roam around and his family  _ allows  _ this. He gets to be drunk, happy off his stupid dopamine, while Ritsu is left broken, bruised, and empty. 

 

No ten year old should wish for death but he does.

 

Someone, please kill him.

 

* * *

>  

Fifteen and suicidal is the best way to describe him, he thinks. His hormones are bursting alive inside him yet his emotions have seemed to jump ship. He feels the overwhelming emptiness inside his chest. It's as if there's a hole there that he's unable to fill for with anything. 

 

Life isn't worth it anymore. He isn't happy. He'll  _ never  _ be happy so why does he try? What good does it do? He just suffers that way.

 

Reading was something he loved. He loved books, learning about the characters and their struggles and seeing them grow as the plot progress, but...it's no good. He feels nothing. Every time he tries to sit down and read a book, he can't help but pay more attention to the hole in his chest rather than the words printed across the numerous pages. 

 

When he can't enjoy reading, that's a problem. A real problem. He's loved books and reading all his life. As a kid, he spent his days with his nose stuck in a book more than reality and yet he feels nothing for books right now. 

 

God, he hates this. He hates feeling this way but what is he supposed to do? Nothing works!

 

He hates to admit but he caves. He caves to something he never thought he would do but hey, he never thought he'd be molested and sodomized either. Man, he's bad at this predicting game called life. 

 

The pain feels  _ great _ in a way he never understood before. The feeling of the pencil stabbing into his wrist, making little dents in the pale skin sends him on a high like no other even if just for a second. The pain makes him  _ feel  _ for once. 

 

For the first time in nine months, he  _ feels  _ something. He doesn't give a damn if it means he has to self-harm to get it. He  _ needs  _ it. 

 

He needs to feel again. 

 

His chest tighten and his breath stutters with each jab but it's never enough. The pain never lasts long enough for him.

 

He needs  _ more _ . He needs to hurt more, to hurt in a way that'll rip him from the inside out, to destroy himself completely. He has to do it. 

 

It's his only choice really. What chance does he have at a future after all? No one will want this used-up, broken piece of trash either way.

 

The knife is promising. He's used it before to cut chicken when he's made food for himself but he thinks it'll do the job. He sure hopes so.

It's so  _ easy. _ No one is home. When is anyone ever home really? No one will come home for hours until it's dark and he'll have bled out by then. It's a great plan. 

 

He can finally get his wish. He can finally  _ die _ . 

 

He places the curved side of the blade against his skin, digging into the flesh but not yet cutting it. It needs to be a clean sweep so he can die. 

 

He feels a sense of content at this moment oddly enough. The overwhelming thought of 'it's over’ is humming all through him. He's yearned for this for years now and  _ finally _ , he can do it. 

 

He goes to pull the blade along his skin, allowing the skin to rip out apart and the blood to bleed down his arm, starting to dip on the tiles underneath him but…

 

_ He can't _ .

 

Why can't he? Why is he hating? He wants this! He _ needs _ this like he needs food and water so why can't he?! He's wanted this for years so why?

 

Why can't he be free from this suffering? Why can’t he just end it? 

 

He chokes up, tears falling down his cheeks. He wants to end it so why can’t he? What’s holding him back? He feels his hand loosen around the wooden grip and he finds himself putting it back into the kitchen drawer despite his want to do nothing more but slash his wrists. God, he’s such a fuck-up. 

 

“Why...why can’t I…?” Ritsu whimpered, shoving his face into his shaking hands. He bent down, curling against the sink to try and hide. He can’t even do it! Why is he so weak?!

 

* * *

 

“Ritsu” Twenty-two, lost with the world, and still depressed and suicidal as ever, he finds himself looking up at Takano Masamune. Takano is quite the character. Rude, brash, and hot-headed to the core. Takano wasn’t the type to be kind to anyone but Ritsu was his boyfriend. The brunette still didn’t understand why Takano took an interest in him. He looked down as he felt Takano’s warm hands running across his jawline so slowly and sweetly that it made Ritsu almost tear up. “Hey, look at me.”

 

He raises his gaze, looking into the handsome man’s warm hazel eyes. He knows he looks like a scared, lost pup right now but he doesn’t think he really cares. Oddly enough, he feels safe and scared at the same time when he’s with Takano. He terrifies Ritsu because he  _ cares _ and no one has ever given a damn before. The thought brings tears to his eyes, looking up with glazed eyes. 

 

“You can tell me. It’s okay.” Takano gently says, smiling reassuringly. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. I won’t push if you aren’t ready.”

 

“I-it’s not that…” Ritsu says breathlessly. He somehow found himself in Takano’s warm, inviting bed with the ravenette hovering him, looking down at him like he was a precious piece of art that deserved to be admired and beloved by all. The thought is not able to process through Ritsu’s cynical brain and he refuses to trust in it. “I just...there’s more to me...that I haven’t told you. I don’t want you to hate me.” 

 

“I would never hate you, Ritsu.” Takano frowns, making Ritsu dislike the way his brow furrows. “I love you. I have ever since I saw, even if you were a bit of a mess trying to handle papers, coffee, and so much more. You looked like a lost intern.”

 

Takano’s chuckles do something to Ritsu. He feels a pleasant shudder, unlike the ones from his grandpa gave him in fear, travel down his spine and he wants more. He wants to entrust himself completely within Takano because he’s the only one he’s ever had the courage in order to do so. 

 

He knows Takano. He knows he can trust him and that he would never hurt him. He knows Takano is more than willing to wait for Ritsu and that warms his heart too much. 

 

“I...when I was a child,” He watches Takano’s face fall as confusion fills those hazel orbs he adores so much. “My grandma, he abused me... _ sexually _ and that really messed me up. The reason I’m the way I am...is because of him. He  _ ruined  _ me and I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t say you’re sorry.” Takano glares down at him, shifting closer to Ritsu. He wraps his arms around Ritsu’s shorter body, drawing him closer to be covered from head to toe in Takano’s warmth. The feeling of safety buzzes through him and finds his heart beating to the same rhythm of Takano’s. “It wasn’t your fault, okay? God, I’ll kill the bastard. He doesn’t deserve to even know your  _ name _ . He deserves to rot in a cell for the rest of his life and never see another shed of light again. I love you, Ritsu. This doesn’t change a goddamn thing.”

 

_ This isn’t your fault. _

 

No one ever told him that. No one ever said it wasn’t his fault. They all just...disapproved even if they never said. They always implied it with their glances they thought Ritsu didn’t see or the tone of their voice that they thought they hid well. 

 

There’s this surge of emotion shooting through him. Almost like an instinct, he latches onto Takano, grabbing tightly onto the back of his shirt and burying his face in the collar of the black sweater. He lets himself to release pitiful, overly loud sobs and whimpers as Takano holds him in his protective and safe arms. Takano’s steering warmth is slowly imprinting itself on Ritsu, offering this bubble of their sanctuary of just them inside. 

 

“It’s not your fault,” Takano repeats, almost like a mantra. The soothing words falling into Ritsu as his hot breath tickles the ear, making him go red from head to toe. He can feel himself holding tightly onto Takano, refusing to let him budge, not even a millimeter is okay to Ritsu at this moment. Later on, he’ll flush bright red and regret seeming so clingy and Takano will assure him ‘it’s okay’ and it’s everything he’s ever wanted but for now, he’ll allow himself to hold on. “He is  _ wrong.  _ You aren’t ‘ruined’, Ritsu. You’re not broken or used or any of that! You’re  _ Ritsu _ and that’s all that matters, okay? He didn’t steal anything, okay? You’re still you despite it all and I love  _ all _ of you.” 

 

“T-thank you…” Ritsu managed to remove his face from Takano’s wet shoulder and look Takano in the eyes. He wanted to be brave but this was just all so new. He had never told  _ anyone  _ who  _ believed  _ him and made sure he knew that. He felt so out in the open and yet so safe under Takano’s intense gaze. 

 

“Don’t thank me,” Takano glared again, such intense anger and pain swirling in those hazel eyes of him. “You told me, that takes  _ courage _ Ritsu. Thank you for telling me your story, thank you for telling me what happened, and thank you for trusting me.”

 

Ritsu simply nodded, holding as he has for the past hour and listening to the beat of Takano’s heart to relax. He finds himself loosening his grip, feeling limp, and feeling his eyes slowly close. Nevertheless, Takano holds him close, protecting him as his boyfriend drifts into dreamland. 

 

For the first time in thirteen years, he’s able to sleep with a calm mind and absent of any nightmares. 

 

* * *

 

“I want you to go to therapy,” Takano said one day while stirring a pot full of soup. Ritsu, being the useless one in a kitchen, sat at the table just reading a book while he waited for time to pass. He looked up suddenly, making his neck groan with the pain that shuddered down it in response. 

 

“W-what…?”

 

“I love you and your family is fucking shitty. You deserve to get the help you need, I won’t push you, but I’ll stand by your side no matter what.” Takano looked over his shoulder, stirring the soup carelessly but smiling reassuringly nonetheless. It made Ritsu’s heart swell.

 

“I...I’ll try.” 

 

“Thank you, that’s all I’m asking of you.” 

 

* * *

 

He felt cuddled into his boyfriend’s side, his head rested on the broad shoulders of Takano’s stronger body. He sneaked a peek down at where their hands were intertwined placed where the sides of their legs were pushed together. He smiled at the side, feeling himself becoming a bit sappy. 

 

Before he got caught like previous times, he lifts his gaze up to the screen. He feels all warm and fuzzy pressed against Takano’s warmer body with hot chocolate in his other and a fluffy cover wrapped around them as the snow rushed outside of the apartment. Somehow, their Sundays ended up getting occupied by watching Law & Order: Special Victim Unit marathons all day long. He wasn’t sure how it became this way but he sure isn’t complaining. 

 

He’s never stopped loving the show or Olivia Benson. Long ago, that character and this show saved his life. It may have taken years for him to finally admit the abuse he suffered and begin to allow himself to heal but he did it. He found himself getting better with an appointment with his therapist, opening himself up all while Takano sat by his side, holding his hand just like he needed. 

 

He could do this. He could heal. Maybe the pain of the abuse would never fade away completely but it can get better. He knows that now. 

 

Takano is endlessly supporting him every term, trying his best to adjust to his needs. He understands nightmares, panic attacks, and never-ending anxiety at night is going to be common for him. Sometimes this happens once a month, sometimes it happens for the entire month, but that’s okay. He’ll still stick by him. 

 

Support is the best way to travel his road to recovery, he realizes that now. He’ll look back one day and realize just how different he was then and who he is now. He knows he can make it and grow and improve every day long as he keeps working at it. 

  
  



End file.
